My lack of rhythm keeps me from romance because I am a white guy who cannot dance. I remember one time standing in the corner with cake, the punch and Mrs. Albert, the math teacher. Now I can smell the Germans in the disco in their leather pants. They get so frisky when they dance. I cannot forgive them. They touched you while they danced. And they break-danced. They can dance. I think how I could not wait to see your face that night. I could not wait to smell your skin that night. And your corsage fell while dancing out there under the silver spinning disco ball.
I would like to dance but I really do not know how. Also, I do not have the money to buy a new set of dance shoes whenever I want. I really want to dance. Can you not see through the music any more? Can you not see that a simple movement would do just fine? Why do you do that fancy dance all the time? Well, over the next few weeks, let your belly shake since it carries your legs when you are dancing with Bradley or dancing with Greg or dancing with Logan or dancing with Ted. I want to dance.